What Our Future Holds
by The Banana Nut Muffin
Summary: If there was a fate worse than death, this was it. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. Sam finds himself in a time where angels really exist, but they can be dicks. Dean is left to deal with some weird trench coat guy. Set: Early Season 1/Season 11. Time Travel.
1. Chapter 1

**Author note** : _This takes place after Phantom Traveler (season 1) before the boys were aware John was off on a quest to find the thing that killed his wife. All references will be of past seasons going as far as season 11's "Form and Void"._

* * *

Sam didn't need to wonder. He just knew. His chosen career path had not gone as planned, but that was ok. As one of his former high school teachers had said — as long as he was happy.

 _You are happy Sam, aren't you?_

This line of work provided no happy endings; he was sure of that.

A change of scenery would clear his mind. He felt nauseous. Whether it was from the drive-thru breakfast burrito this morning or the sloppy clean-up of last night's chimera slaughter, he couldn't be sure. With the absence of their father, it had seemed that the creatures that went bump in the night seemed to grow more wicked than Sam remembered. He couldn't recall growing up if they had ever encountered a chimera nest, but he hoped it would be the last. All he knew was that if they hit one more pot hole on the long stretch of highway between Ohio and Indiana, he was going to vomit.

His older brother didn't seem to mind the road conditions and continued to wrap his knuckles against the dashboard in tune with CCR's 'Bad Moon Rising'.

It was nearing nightfall and they had been on the road for a little over four hours. After leaving the rural heights of Streetsboro — a town six miles east of Cleveland behind, Sam found himself reflecting on the day's events. He thought he would never be able to rid himself of the foul stench the creatures released after being dismembered and burned alive. He shivered, trying not to remember the human faces that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. Thankfully, he was spared the grotesque task of skinning one of the chimera victims alive by chance when a steel beam had sliced the poor being in two, severing the chimera parts from human. She had died instantly.

Still, the hunt left him feeling sorry for the unfortunate souls who had fallen prey to the chimera. They had been a part of the general population once, only to be rendered helpless as cruel test subjects in a sick experiment consisting of animal human hybridization. Sam couldn't forget the look of agony in the woman's eyes as she was forced to attack and kill those who threatened the lair. Her human half had fought hard trying to delay the attacks, but had been forced to obey the chimera half. She had tried to plead with him to end her life, and he knew he'd never be able to forget her voice. He wished that severing the parts would have saved the victims, but hopes of that had been dashed when Dean reluctantly informed him that — much like vampirism — there was no known cure. He had buried her body, along with the others, as best as he could manage, hoping that wherever they went, they were finally at peace.

Another pot hole and he was closer to having his brother pull over so he could spew his guts on the side of the road. Dean, on the other hand, was coping with the events of their recent hunt just as well as he did with the rest by storing it into the deepest depths of his mind, a place where access was restricted. Sam secretly envied his brother's ability to rejuvenate from a hunt so quickly, but also found him a bit cold at the lack of empathy for the victims. They hadn't had a say in their transformations; therefore, he didn't see them as ruthless killing machines like Dean did. He was always black and white about such things, much like their father. Still, he hadn't completely dismissed it. There had been a brief mention of "poor bastards" before his brother had torched the rest of the lair.

"Come on man, just spill."

Sam snapped to attention at the sudden voice after many hours of uneasy silence.

Dean briefly made eye contact before turning back to the road. "I know you're still thinking about it, Sam," he continued, careful to keep the edge from his tone.

"I'm not," was what he wanted to say, but Sam felt the words die on his lips. He was tired of thinking, tired of seeing people he cared about in pain and most of all, tired of wasting time while Jessica's killer still lived. Dean seemed to be able to read his mind.

"Let it go. Nothing that we could have done would have saved her. She had turned weeks ago."

The words echoed in his mind, and of course the rational part of Sam knew he hadn't been referring to Jess, but the pain still lingered. There was always something that could have been done. It had seemed that they always arrived too late. He had failed her like he had failed at keeping Jessica safe. It was his fault they were both dead.

"Sam, it's not your fault."

Dean was in his head again. He chose not to respond, instead letting the guilt wash over him. He heard a resigned sigh, and resorted to ignoring it, slumping his head against the window. Dean would never understand. He was still unaware of the truth. Sam accepted that he would have to live with the guilt of her death on his hands. He would never forgive himself for what he had done. He could feel his brother's eyes on him, but there was nothing he could say to change his mind. Still, Dean tried to get through to him.

"Sam – "

Dean was suddenly cut off by an earsplitting screech that seemed to engulf the whole vehicle. He narrowly avoided colliding into a freight truck, cutting the wheel at a hard right and sending poor Sam's head into the passenger side window. The impala skidded off the rumble strips, slowing them down from the brunt of the impact but sending the front end into the embankment with a dull thud.

"What the hell is that!" Dean shouted through covered ears, but the screeching reached a deafening volume, drowning out his voice entirely. Sam, dazed from the force of the blow to his head, looked up just in time to see the windshield shatter, glass shards spraying both boys like ocean mist. They barely had time to recover before a blinding white light erupted from above the shattered windshield, immersing them both in its enormity.

"Dean…" Sam managed, locking eyes with his now panicked older brother before they were both swept into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam felt sore. His head was throbbing and his stomach was in knots. He felt as if he'd gone ten rounds with an MMA fighter in a high stakes match, or like he'd been sucked down a rabbit hole. Once his vision started to return to him, he didn't know if he would be able to keep the contents of his stomach under control. Dean would most likely shoot him if he puked in the impala, if he was still alive, that is.

Sam slowly felt around, expecting his hands to rest on either shattered glass or the seat of the car. He realized it wasn't either when his right hand connected with something solid. He gradually opened his eyes, blinking back stars until his vision came back into focus. It was then that he noticed that one, he was no longer in the impala and two, he wasn't even on the same interstate.

Various books of different volumes were scattered everywhere around him, scant for a few empty spaces. Sitting up, he realized he was on a carpeted floor of what appeared to be someone's bedroom, and upon inspection, was instantly brought back to dorm life with Jess. He felt a stab of pain from the feeling, but quickly suppressed it.

Next to him was a wooden desk, and cattycorner a small dresser with a lamp. A large queen-sized bed completed the small room, and he gingerly reached up to grip the edge of the bedframe to drag himself up to his full height. He managed to stand, but the sudden motion caused him to sway slightly until he decided sitting was a better option.

His head ached. He had no clue how he had ended up in this bedroom, and Dean was nowhere to be found, those were things he was certain of. That, and he would kill for an aspirin right now. A million questions were racing through his mind, but he found that nausea followed suit and tried to clear his thoughts. His head trauma, coupled by the bout of sickness brewing in his stomach, was enough to subdue him, and he couldn't help but slump over on his side. From this view, he spied a few papers on the dresser next to him and grabbed for them lazily. Holding the papers up to him, he squinted at the text, trying to make out the words and symbols that covered them. His headache proved to be too demanding and he eventually gave up, tossing them aside but not before realizing there was something stuck to the back of the last page. He could see it was a photo of some sort with a thicker edge than the torn pages. Flipping it over, his eyes adjusted to the images and he became confused.

He was looking at a picture of himself. He was standing in front of Dean, laughing. His brother was smiling genuinely, not like the catlike grins he threw Sam after making a wise crack about his height. With all the arguing they had done as of late, he couldn't remember the last time they had laughed.

Sam wracked his brain. He couldn't remember taking this picture in the short time that he had reunited with Dean, but there was no mistaking that it was them. He tried to think of who they even knew that owned a camera. His dad's old friends, Bobby Singer or Pastor Jim, were the only two that came to mind, but he hadn't seen either of them in years. John couldn't have taken it as he was just as ignorant as Dean when it came to technology, that and he had abandoned them to find God knows what.

He felt goose bumps on his arms. It made him wonder whose room he was really in.

* * *

When Dean awoke, the first thing that he noticed was that it had gotten lighter outside. That, and that his windshield was gone. Daylight streamed through and he could feel the slight chill of the morning wind. He clutched a hand to his head.

His head still ached from the awful screeching, but he had endured worse hangovers as a teenager. It was tolerable. After taking a few moments to regain his senses, it was then that he noticed he was no longer alone in his car. He cast a glance beside him, expecting to find a disoriented Sam, but instead came face to face with a pair of red lined eyes. The man, dressed in what appeared to be a collared shirt and trench coat, was breathing heavily and staring him down like a piece of meat.

Dean let out a breath, eyes widening in alarm. His only thought was that this was so not his day as the man lunged at him like a wild animal.

* * *

 _October 14, 2015_

Thirty-six-year-old Dean Winchester had just finished his second cup of coffee of the day. He was stressed, worried and angry, and his younger brother was just adding to his frustration by refusing to answer his calls. He had important updates about their latest predicament — the darkness, and it couldn't wait until later. He was at a loss without someone in his corner. Sam was out trying to fix their mess, Castiel was God knows where after Rowena had cursed him, Crowley had turned on him again and Bobby was still dead. He briefly thought about contacting Garth because he was getting to the point of desperation, when his cell phone ringing sprung him out of his thoughts.

"Jody, thank God," he breathed, relieved to hear at least one familiar voice. "You need to get the girls to a safe place. This thing that we're dealing with…I don't know how to stop it."

"I'll keep you updated if I get any strange reports," she responded nervously. "Do you think it might hit us soon?"

Dean hoped it wouldn't spread that fast. He didn't have the time or resources to make it to South Dakota. "Let's hope not. Just keep on eye on Claire. Have you heard from Sam at all?"

She furrowed a brow from her end of the line. "No. Was I supposed to have?" The Winchesters never told her anything until last minute.

"He's not answering his phone, and truth be told, I'm starting to think he's in deep shit."

"He can handle himself," she reassured him. Jody wasn't exactly a shoulder to cry on, but he could always rely on her for advice. "I'll let you know if I hear from him."

"Thanks, Jody." He was about to hang up the phone when he heard her start to speak up again.

"Take care of yourself, Dean."

He snapped the phone shut, feeling like he had accomplished squat.

There was always something that was either trying to destroy them, or destroy the world. Hunting was not as black and white as it used to be. He almost missed the times when anticipated hours of research was the biggest headache he had to bear. Spirits, vampires, werewolves, demons and witches had once been the biggest threats to mankind, and now he was sure he had been allies with all of them throughout his hunting career. They had faced countless deaths, stopped the apocalypse, leviathans and had been so close to closing the gates of hell forever. He didn't think there could ever be anything worse than Lucifer, but here it was, and this time, he had let it free.

So why should he take care of himself? He didn't deserve it. He sighed, pulling the impala into the underground garage that made up the bunker. He got out and made his way to the back door, hoping against hope that Sam would call him back.

He suddenly froze. The door was hanging open slightly, and he didn't remember leaving it unlocked. His thoughts went to his brother. It could only either be him or Castiel. The place was warded to the gills against anything supernatural, demon and angel (aside from his friend). To be safe, Dean pulled his hand gun out of his jacket pocket, inching carefully toward the entrance.

"Sam?" he called, pulling the door open. He didn't see any blood along the knob or the walls so if it was him, he wasn't hurt. Getting no response, he walked into the threshold, closing the door behind him. He heard the flutter of pages followed by a chair scraping against the wooden floor. Someone was in here, but if it wasn't Sam, then who?

Dean saw books scattered across the table of the study and strode up to the intruder who was now sitting with his back to him. "Ok, who the hell are- "

Time seemed to freeze. He stopped mid-sentence. Dean was at a loss for words. Standing there staring at him was an open-mouthed Sam, only it wasn't his brother.


End file.
